Wiccan, A Witchy Young Adult Paranormal Romance

by M. Leighton

  Wiccan, A Witchy Young Adult Paranormal Romance

  Title Page

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  EPILOGUE

  WICCAN

  By M. Leighton

  Copyright © 2011 by M. Leighton

  Smashwords Edition

  http://mleightonbooks.blogspot.com

  Photo by Simon Howden/freedigitalphotos.net

  CHAPTER ONE

  “Tonight I’m not Lisa. I’m Tony,” the girl said.

  Her suggestive tone was met with a throaty chuckle. Though she wore a thin, fake goatee, there was no mistaking the feminine beauty of her face. Lisa, as she’d called herself, had big brown eyes and short black hair. The pixie cut was disheveled as if she’d recently run her fingers through it. Thick grass framed her head in a spiky halo and the top two buttons of her dress shirt were undone. A dark blue tie hung loosely around her neck, lying off to one side.

  Her lips curved into a sultry smile and her lids were heavy with passion as she looked up into her lover’s face. She reached up and twisted a lock of dark red hair around her finger.

  “I love it,” she said huskily. “It makes me feel so dirty.”

  Her eyes drifted closed as two black-gloved hands came up to cup her face. Her lover leaned forward and long fiery hair dropped down like a curtain to conceal them both.

  I could hear the soft wet sounds of their lips as they kissed and then her partner leaned back and I saw Lisa again. Her expression was one of dreamy desire as the gloved hands of her lover slid down to her throat. Lisa tipped her head back to let the long fingers stroke the pale skin of her neck.

  When the fingers wound around Lisa’s throat and began to squeeze, she grinned as if she was enjoying an inside joke. But when they continued to tighten, Lisa’s smile began to waver. It faded completely when the creak of stretching glove leather broke the silence. The hands sunk deeper and deeper into her flesh, squeezing tighter and tighter, and Lisa’s sober expression quickly turned to a mask of terror.

  Her face reddened as she struggled to breathe. To no avail, Lisa’s fingers clawed at the hands squeezing her airway shut. She opened her mouth to scream, but it was nothing more than a hoarse croak that barely stirred the stillness. Her lips worked themselves open and closed in several futile attempts to breathe.

  Lisa began to shake her head back and forth, back and forth, in a final and desperate effort to free herself. Her lover simply bore down, subduing her easily. Red hair swung forward and thumbs bit into Lisa’s flesh. Her eyes watered and darted around frantically. Her tongue protruded grotesquely as she flailed.

  My pulse throbbed in my ears when I saw a white ring appear around her mouth. It looked clown-like against the purplish red of her face. I knew what it meant, though. Lisa was suffocating.

  Little by little, Lisa’s struggles waned until she finally went limp. I watched the life fade from her eyes as the seconds ticked by. Much as I wanted to, I couldn’t move. I was tied to the scene until the murder was complete.

  By the time the hands finally loosened and pulled away from her neck, Lisa’s eyes were open and glassy, staring past me, out into oblivion. Now the earthy brown orbs were nothing more than windows into the hollow darkness of death.

  Right before my eyes, the vision drifted away like early morning fog as the clarity of the present swept in. I took several deep calming breaths and reminded myself that it was just an image, that’s all. There was nothing to be afraid of, nothing to feel bad about. There wasn’t anything I could’ve done to help her.

  My visions, while terrifying, were always like that—pretty much useless. They were glimpses of past events that flooded my mind when I walked over the site of a violent attack, an attack that most often resulted in a homicide.

  But as usual, despite the irrationality of it, I had a moment of intense sadness. I felt sorry for the girl, for what she’d suffered and who she’d left behind, for the fact that no one had helped her and neither could I. It didn’t make any sense, but I’d learned to accept it. Well, somewhat anyway.

  I was still in the grass beside the sidewalk when I heard the rhythmic sound of heavy footfalls. Blinking several times, I looked around and saw a runner jogging toward me, his feet thumping steadily on the concrete.

  The sidewalk behind me was old and cracked and snaked through a little patch of woods that decorated the northwest corner of campus. It was well hidden and out of sight and, as far as I knew, only used by joggers. I had to admit, it was a great place for murder. The only reason I’d come this way to school was because my house was just through the trees and on the other side of the river. Now I was going to have to find a different route to take. This one was forever spoiled.

  I looked to my left, toward the quad up ahead and my final destination, Fisk Hall, just beyond it. I knew I should get going, but my eyes were drawn once more to the grass where I’d seen Lisa take her last breath only moments before. Quickly, I was lost again in the images that were still fresh and vivid in my mind.

  “Are you alright?”

  The deep voice startled me. With a gasp, I put my hand to my chest to steady my runaway heart.

  “Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you,” he said. It was the runner. He’d stopped and walked across the grass to check on me.

  “No, no, you’re fine. I was just, uh-. Sorry,” I said, shaking my head. “I’m just a little preoccupied. The first day of school and all.” I shrugged my shoulders in what I hoped was a casual gesture.

  “Freshman, huh?”

  “Is it that obvious?” To this, he said nothing. He just smiled, revealing a row of perfectly straight, white teeth. “Do you go here?” I asked.

  He appeared to be college age. I’d have guessed maybe twenty-one or twenty-two. And he was probably a jock. He had that athletic build: wide shoulders, narrow waist, long legs. He looked like a clean cut, wholesome, all-American guy right down to his trendy blonde hair and sky blue eyes.

  “Until next May, I do. It’s my senior year,” he said with a smile. “Jacob Wheeler. But you can call me Jake.”

  It surprised me when he stuck out his hand. Few men had ever offered to shake my hand, so I faltered a bit before I raised my hand and pressed my palm to his. His hand was big and warm and a little rough. “Mercy Holloway. But you can call me…Mercy Holloway,” I said with a nervous laugh. “Nice to meet you.”

  “Well, welcome to University East, Mercy Holloway. I’ll see you around.” With that, he turned back to the sidewalk and jogged away.

  Shaking off the unnerving start to my day, I walked around Lisa’s now translucent body and tried to put her face behind me as I continued my trek to class.

  Fortunately, the rest of the short journey was vision-free so I was a bit more collected by the time I took a seat in my biochemistry class. By the looks of the empty room, I figured I was early so I took out my book and started flipping idly through the pages.

  Within a few minutes, other students started filing in and a few minutes after that, the teacher arrived.

  Dr. Bradbury was his name and he looked every bit the science teacher. He was a walking cliché with his black horn-rimmed glasses, a
trocious comb-over and stained lab coat.

  He was well into his first-day-of-class spiel when a straggler student darted through the door. She hurried across in front of the first row then turned to climb up the center aisle toward me.

  The breath hitched in my throat when she lifted her head to look for an empty seat. Her face, like all the others I’d seen die over the past ten years, was permanently etched into my mind. Only this one was very much alive.

  The student was Lisa.

  CHAPTER TWO

  I gaped at her from my where I sat, watching her as she slid into the empty seat right in front of me. My mind was reeling. I had never seen a murder before it happened and I wasn’t quite sure what to do. I mean, I had to do something, but I couldn’t very well approach her and say Hey, I had a vision that you’re going to be strangled by someone with long red hair, but I don’t know when or where or who the person is. Yeah, I’m really sure that was gonna happen. She’d never believe me.

  I rolled the dilemma over and over in my mind. Meanwhile, I missed everything Dr. Bradbury said in class. I spent the entire seventy-five minutes figuring out ways that I could help the young, very much alive girl in front of me. Unfortunately, I came up with nothing.

  When class was over, I still wasn’t sure what to do, so I decided to follow her, hoping inspiration would strike along the way.

  As discreetly as I could, I tracked her to where she met up with one of her friends and they went to Ruger Commons for a cappuccino. I ordered one as well and sat semi-close to them, trying to eavesdrop without getting caught. As cover, I had my biochemistry book open on the table in front of me as if I was studying diligently. I didn’t stop to think that studying probably made me stand out all the more. I mean, who does that on the first day of school anyway?

  Somewhere in front of me, a deep voice that sounded vaguely familiar rumbled. I looked over at the little Burger King half-store across from me and saw Jake Wheeler standing in line. He was talking with a couple of other guys.

  I watched as he ordered, appreciating the way he cleaned up. His blonde hair was a little darker and looked wet, probably freshly washed, and he had on jeans and an Abercrombie and Fitch t-shirt. The only reason I could identify the shirt so easily is because I recognized it as one that the live models at the mall wore a few weeks ago. Whatever those guys were clothed in had a tendency to stick in my head.

  He talked to his friends, gesturing so animatedly that I had no trouble figuring out that they were talking about football. When it was his turn at the counter, he placed his order, paid the cashier then picked up his food and carried it to a table directly in my line of sight. I watched him set his tray down and pull out a chair. I was completely absorbed by the fluid way he moved.

  Unable to take my eyes off him, I watched as, to my utter dismay, he turned and bent down to kiss Lisa.

  “Hey, babe,” he said affectionately.

  “Hi, sweetie. I missed you this weekend,” she said, winding her arms around his neck.

  Lisa!

  I snapped my gaping mouth shut. In my thrall with Jake, I’d completely forgotten about Lisa, my sole reason for being there. I watched the couple’s PDA until Jake extricated himself from Lisa’s arms and took his seat.

  I tried to ignore him as he ate, but I found my eyes wandering back to him frequently when I was supposed to be watching Lisa.

  I was watching him laugh with one of his friends when I suddenly remembered to check on Lisa. Only she was gone. How had I missed that?

  I looked around for her at all the tables and kiosks, the half-stores and the benches, but there was no sign of her.

  I figured that was a pretty good indication that I could cross private investigating off my list of possible career alternatives if my premed major didn’t work out. I think it’s safe to assume that surveillance is not your strong suit if all it takes to distract you is a cute guy.

  I was both disappointed and aggravated. I could’ve kicked myself for losing track of Lisa. Jake’s arrival at Ruger’s had completely distracted me from my stalking.

  It’s a sad and pathetic testament to one’s complete and total lack of a social life when you get that wrapped up in just watching a guy that you just met. I mean, it’s not like he’s that hot. Well, yeah, actually he is, but that’s not the point. I should’ve been completely focused on Lisa. She was certainly the more important person of the two of them.

  I sighed and sat back to take a drink of my coffee. I hated to admit it, but I was a little put out, too, that the foxy Jake Wheeler was taken—very taken.

  I hadn’t been aware of it, but apparently he’d made a bigger impression on me this morning than what I’d thought. I guess I’d been unwittingly infected by all the clichés about college. You know The best years of your life and College guys are better, all that stuff. In the back of my mind, I must’ve been thinking that my first day was going to turn out to be a real whopper if I landed a guy like Jake Wheeler right off the bat. But, alas, it wasn’t meant to be.

  The smooth deep baritone of Jake’s laugh shook me from my thoughts. I didn’t suppose there was any reason for me to sit here and torture myself over him if Lisa was gone. I needed to find her, but I had no idea where to even begin to look.

  What a great hero I was turning out to be. I’d been listening to Jake laugh when I should’ve been keeping an eye on Lisa. One day soon, possibly very soon, she’d be laughing her very last laugh with her lover only minutes before her death. And I was supposed to be trying to prevent that.

  Pushing thoughts of Jake aside, I focused on my mission. Renewed urgency swelled and churned inside me. I had to do something, but what?

  As I mulled over my unsavory options, something occurred to me. If Lisa was romantically involved with Jake (which she obviously was) then when was she going to meet her killer? It didn’t take a genius to figure out that the long red hair I’d seen belonged to a female. Was Lisa a bisexual and, if so, was her killer already in the picture? Or would she be leaving heterosexuality (and Jake) altogether to pursue another lifestyle, one in which she’d eventually meet and be slain by her lover?

  Maybe I had time, maybe I didn’t. There were too many unknowns for me to put it off any longer. Slamming my book shut and stuffing it into my messenger bag, I decided right then that I was going to the cops, regardless of the consequences. This was getting too complicated for me to be dabbling in. I needed to leave it to the professionals.

  But how? If I were to go in there and explain what has actually happened, they’d swear I was a lunatic. But therein lies the rub because if I didn’t explain what happened, I’d have nothing. I’m the only evidence that I have. What I’ve seen is the only tool at my disposal to help Lisa. So how was I going to get the police to help me? To help Lisa?

  Purposefully, I walked out of Ruger’s. I was going to the police and I’d just have to think of something creative once I got there.

  I was halfway across the quad when I stopped, stomping my foot in frustration. Crap! I thought. I had completely forgotten that I have two more Monday-Wednesday classes today.

  For a few seconds I toyed with the idea of skipping them, which wasn’t my style at all, but I quickly discarded that notion. It was fairly apparent that today was not the day that Lisa was going to die. Too many puzzle pieces were missing and she lacked the men’s attire necessary for my vision to come to fruition.

  It was with that comforting thought in mind that I veered off to the right and hurried to my next class in hopes that maybe I’d be able to get at least a little learning done today.

  By the time my third and final class was letting out, I had worked myself into a fit of epic proportions. The more I thought about my one viable option (going to the authorities), the more I realized that my one option sucked. And I think one of the worst parts about the whole mess was that I couldn’t even ask someone else’s advice, brainstorm for alternatives. It was all on me.

  That was my fault, too. I’d never told anyone
, including my parents, about my bizarre visions. I’d never really needed to, I guess. Well, maybe when I was younger; it probably would’ve been helpful then. But not now. I’d been seeing this stuff since I was eight years old. I was used to it, in a nightmarish kind of way. But I had to admit I’d never felt so alone in it before. Not until today.

  I knew that the only choice I had was to go to the police and try to be as circumspect as possible when telling them that I suspected Lisa was going to be killed. It was going to be a humiliating trip no matter what I did. I knew that. How could it not be? They’re cops and cops ask pertinent questions like by whom, when, where, how, why. And I, of course, would have very few answers for them, at least not ones they’d consider concrete or sane in any way.

  As I envisioned the worst case scenarios (like involuntary commitment and public humiliation), it occurred to me that I didn’t even know Lisa’s last name. An oversight like that would likely transform an already bad trip into a complete disaster. I made a mental note to be sure and take care of that ASAP, which meant I’d have to take a detour and go by my house.